Runaways
by Harkpad
Summary: Barney really wants to be a good big brother and take care of Clint. So when he realizes Clint's getting hurt again, he decides to take him away. Surely the circus is a good idea. (Warnings: child abuse) This is a small glimpse at what might've prompted this choice.


**A/N: So I've been having Barney Barton feels lately (thanks a lot, Fraction). I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>"Clint!" Barney said as loud as his own fear would let him. "Clint, tell me where the hell you are! Come on."<p>

He crept along the back side of the two story brick house, through the thick weeds crawling up the walls, trying to listen for his little brother over the sounds of thundering crickets, a sign of a summer evening in Iowa. He's bigger than his scrawny little brother, but he can get low, and he's sure Clint is around here somewhere. "Dammit, Clint, you gotta come inside. It's dinner time and he's gonna get mad as hell if you don't."

Their foster father, Jack, had a temper. They'd been there five months, and Barney had been cussed at and yelled at constantly, and he and Clint did their best to spend as much time at the nearby playground and out of the way.

Unfortunately, Clint had a hard time staying out of the way. He didn't hear as well as other kids, so he missed commands or spoke too loud sometimes. Barney tried to teach him to fight back, and he was pretty good at it. Meant he got in trouble a lot, though.

"He's mad already," Clint's small, tinny voice called, and then Barney heard a rustle from the tall pine tree backed against the house and a grunt as little feet hit the dirt.

Barney squatted down and lifted a tree branch to let Clint out. "What're you doing up there? You're gonna fall and break your arm, dummy."

Clint crawled out from under the tree and ducked his head, wouldn't look at Barney. "Well come on," Clint muttered, and walked away. "Don't want him mad at you, too."

Barney frowned. He was eleven and sometimes Clint was like a yappy puppy that Barney wanted to shove down a hill to get some quiet, but he never did. They made a pact a year ago, in an empty cemetery on a rainy day in Waverly that they'd stick together no matter what.

"Hey, wait up, punk," he said, reaching for Clint's arm. He grabbed it and Clint gasped and stumbled into the dirt. Barney let go quick. He knelt down next to Clint, who had curled into a ball, one arm wrapped around his knees and the other limp at his side and his forehead against his torn jeans.

He didn't make a sound; that had been trained out both of them by their asshole of a dad years ago, but Barney could see his little red flannel shirt, stretched thin across his bony shoulders, trembling.

"Clint, look at me," Barney said, and tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

Clint looked up slowly, his eyes red-rimmed and scared. "'s not so bad," he said, "You just spooked me when you grabbed."

Barney sat back on his heels as he took in the bruise on the side of Clint's mouth and another along the side of his jaw near his ear, and his heart sank and anger boiled around it. "Clint," he started, but he didn't know how to finish. He thought of _what did he do? What did you do? Why did this happen again? _He decided on, "Where else are you hurt?" He signed it, too.

Clint shrugged and spoke, signing back. "He twisted my arm and elbow. It ain't broke, though. Just hurts. That's all." His voice was shaking and a little too loud and if Barney didn't know him better he'd think Clint was about to cry. He sucked in a deep breath. "I didn't do nothin', Barney. I promise. I was just sitting on the garage step reading a comic when he yanked me and hit me. He said he didn't want us but Miss Judy made him go along with it. Said I wasn't good for anything and I'm dumber than a rock." His voice actually hitched on that, and Barney knew they were both hearing an echo of a ghost say those same words to both boys in a now empty farmhouse.

Barney drew in a breath and looked around. No one was looking for them yet, but Miss Judy told Barney to go find Clint for dinner, so they'd be looking soon. "I know you ain't dumb, Clint," he said firmly, ruffling Clint's straw blond hair. He looked up at the tree Clint had been hiding in and cocked his head. "You might be a monkey, but you're not dumb."

Clint gave him a little half-smile and nodded. "I made it up pretty high, Barney," he said and signed proudly. "No one woulda found me."

"Yeah, okay," Barney answered with his own grin. "I might've, but I've had practice." He narrowed his eyes and got serious again. "What're you gonna tell Miss Judy about your face?"

He remembered strict words from his dad's mouth about not telling anyone, and he also remembered the one teacher dumb enough to make a phone call about Barney's eye one time. Some people dressed too nice for their part of town showed up at the house one day and asked a few questions, but nothing came of it except another beating.

Clint wiped his face with a sap stained hand and shrugged. "Got in a fight with a kid at the playground, I guess. Jake said if I tell he'll make it worse."

Barney looked hard at his little brother. He fought with other kids 'cause they teased about his hearing, and Clint also had a chip on his shoulder the size of a boulder and took everything real serious. "She'll send us away if you fight too much," he said.

"Good."

"Clint. We don't know what could come. I hate not knowin' what kind of folks we'll get stuck with."

"This ain't the first time," Clint muttered as he stood up.

"What?"

"He's been hittin' me since we came." He pulled up his shirt and showed Barney fading bruises on his stomach.

Barney sat down heavily on the ground. "Fuck." His brother, who was a sweet and smart nine year-old, _kept_ getting hurt. He'd been getting hurt since he was old enough to talk. At least Barney had some memories of their parents before the booze and darkness showed up. Not Clint.

Clint jutted his chin. "He said not to tell. So I didn't."

Barney heard stubborn defiance in Clint's light voice and saw a flash of hatred in his gray-blue eyes and it was like the hatred emanating from his brother hit a switch in Barney's head, and a plan unfolded. "Clint," he said. "I have an idea." He felt his pulse quicken at the thought. "I saw a sign."

"You gettin' religion or somethin'?"

Barney smiled and stood up. "Nope. I'm gettin' us out of here, you monkey. Come on. Let's get dinner and I'll tell you my plan later. We gotta get you somewhere folks'll leave you alone. It'll work and it'll be fun. Screw Jack and this place."

Clint looked up at him with a wide grin. "Will it be just us? Are we gonna run away?" He sounded like that would be the best present ever.

Barney nodded and squeezed Clint's shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, Clint, we're gonna run. You and me."

Later that night the boys filled a pillowcase each with clothes, and they ran. As they ran toward the field lit brightly with dancing lights, Clint whooped and laughed, and Barney wanted that sound to last and last. It was his favorite sound, ever.

Surely joining a circus would keep his little brother laughing for a long, long time.


End file.
